Akranes 1990
‘Shall we have a sleepover?’ Elísabet suggested to Sara one day. They were sitting with their dolls in Sara’s bedroom, digging into a large bowl of popcorn.
Sara smiled and nodded eagerly. ‘But I need to ask Mummy first,’ she said, getting up and running out of the room. A minute or two later Sara’s mother came in. She was small and kind but much older than Elísabet’s mother, so old that Elísabet thought she could just as well be Sara’s grandmother. She must be getting on for forty.
‘Do you think your mother would let you stay over?’ she asked.
Elísabet nodded. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t care,’ she said. She knew this was true, and the thought made her sad for a moment.
‘Then I’d better give her a call,’ Sara’s mother said and asked for their telephone number.
‘We don’t have a phone,’ Elísabet said quickly. ‘I’ll just ask her.’
Sara’s mother didn’t seem entirely happy with this suggestion. ‘I’d rather talk to her myself,’ she said, in a kind but firm voice, and Elísabet knew there was no point arguing. Sara’s mother was strict. She always insisted Sara was home by a certain hour and that she finished her homework before going out to play. Sara envied Elísabet because she never had to ask permission for anything and could stay out as late as she liked. Elísabet just smiled and pretended that this was a good thing.
‘But…’ she began.
Before she could say any more, Sara’s mother interrupted: ‘Why don’t we go round to your house now?’ she said. Elísabet nodded reluctantly. She normally avoided inviting Sara round to play.
They put on their coats and shoes and set off in the direction of Elísabet’s house. She walked slowly, lagging several paces behind Sara and her mother. She wasn’t sure if her mother would be home – or who would be there with her.
‘What a beautiful house!’ Sara’s mother exclaimed when they got there.
It was true: their house was beautiful – in Elísabet’s opinion, anyway. It was big, with three storeys and a triangular dormer window in the roof where her bedroom was. There was a pretty garden round the house too, with trees and a swing she played on a lot in summer, and a pink rosebush.
‘I’ll go and check if Mummy’s in,’ she said and took the steps in a couple of bounds.
‘I’ll come and say hello as well,’ Sara’s mother said, following her.
Elísabet sighed. She opened the door and was met by a stale fug. She was so inured to the smell that she rarely noticed it, but after spending all day round at Sara’s, with its faint, pervading scent of soap, she couldn’t help but be conscious of the difference.
‘Mummy!’ she called out apprehensively once she was inside. There was no answer. Sara and her mother stood in the hall, silently taking in the state of the place. Elísabet knew what they were thinking. Why did her house always have to be such a mess?
She went upstairs and knocked tentatively on her mother’s bedroom door. When no one answered, she opened it and went in. There she lay, sound asleep, her chest slowly rising and falling, and her hair in a wild tangle on the white pillow.
‘Mummy,’ she whispered, gently pushing at her shoulder. Her mother stirred and opened her eyes to slits. ‘Can I go for a sleepover at Sara’s house?’ Elísabet asked.
Her mother waved her away and turned over on her side. Elísabet stood there for a while, at a loss, then crept out and closed the door.
‘Mummy’s asleep but I’m allowed to stay over,’ she announced when she rejoined the others.
‘Are you sure?’ Sara’s mother asked. ‘I’d rather talk to her myself.’
‘She’s asleep,’ Elísabet said stubbornly. ‘She doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘I see.’ Sara’s mother wrinkled her brow. She hovered uncertainly in the kitchen for a moment or two before eventually smiling. ‘All right, we’d better go then. We can stop and buy some ice-cream on the way home. How would you both like that?’
‘Are you asleep?’ Sara whispered later that evening. They were sharing a mattress on the floor of Sara’s room.
The mattress was supposed to be for Elísabet, but Sara had insisted on joining her, saying it was much more fun than sleeping in a bed.
‘No,’ Elísabet whispered back and giggled. The duvet smelled so nice that she pulled it right up to her nose until all that could be seen of her was her dark hair and brown eyes.
Sara stopped laughing and turned her big, blue gaze on Elísabet. ‘Why does your house smell so funny?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know.’ Elísabet couldn’t understand why her mother never cleaned and hardly ever opened a window although she smoked all the time.
‘Where’s your daddy?’ Sara asked.
‘He’s under the sea,’ Elísabet answered. ‘He was in a boat at sea when a storm came.’
Sara was quiet for a while, gazing pensively at the ceiling. ‘I wish he’d been on the boat instead,’ she said, just as Elísabet was dropping off. ‘I wish he’d died instead of your daddy.’
Elísabet turned her head to stare at her friend in surprise. Who was she talking about? Whoever it was, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say. She was about to respond when Sara turned over, pulling more of the duvet over herself. Not long afterwards they were both sound asleep.
Wednesday, 29 November 2017
From the pronounced purple shadows under his eyes, it appeared that Eiríkur had hardly slept. But, in spite of that, his hair was carefully styled with gel and he was neatly dressed, in jeans and T-shirt. Rather too neatly, Elma thought. She couldn’t imagine having the patience to stand in front of the mirror and style her hair at a time like that. Her own appearance certainly wouldn’t have been top of her list of priorities. Studying him in daylight, she was also fairly sure he had applied fake tan to his face, as there was a conspicuous yellowish-brown line under his chin.
Eiríkur showed them into the kitchen, where the older boy sat eating his cereal. Elma was struck yet again by his close resemblance to his mother: the same dark hair and naturally dark lashes. He was the complete opposite of his father, who was so fair that his eyelashes and brows were almost invisible.
‘Fjalar’s off school today,’ Eiríkur said. ‘I know I should probably have kept both boys at home but Ernir asked if he could go in and I thought it would do him good to get out of the house. It’ll distract him. Otherwise they’ll both be stuck here with me all day, and I’m not exactly a bundle of laughs at the moment.’ His smile was almost a grimace. ‘My younger boy can’t really grasp what’s happened,’ he added. Fjalar looked up, eyeing Elma and Sævar suspiciously. Elma gave him a reassuring smile, but he averted his gaze and went back to studying the picture on the cereal packet.
They took seats at the breakfast bar in the kitchen and Eiríkur offered them coffee. Elma accepted; Sævar asked for a glass of water. Once Eiríkur had given them their drinks, he leant over to Fjalar. ‘Go and get dressed now, there’s a good boy.’ His son put down his spoon, rose to his feet and walked reluctantly to his room without giving them another glance.
‘They seem to be taking it very differently,’ Eiríkur said, once the boy was out of sight. ‘Fjalar’s so quiet; it’s as if a light has gone out inside him. Ernir keeps asking what’s happened: where’s Mummy now, why isn’t she coming home?’ Eiríkur’s eyes strayed to the window, then returned to them. ‘I don’t know which is worse.’
‘I think they’d both benefit from talking to someone,’ Elma said. ‘To a professional.’
‘Well, we’ve talked to the vicar, and it’s the same thing then: Ernir keeps asking questions; Fjalar won’t say a word. I’m more worried about Fjalar, actually. He and Elísabet had a special bond – a bond I never really understood. That’s not to say she didn’t love them both equally, but she and Fjalar were so alike. They had that same aloof manner that can seem off-puttingly cold to people who don’t know them.’
‘Do you have family who can support you? I know that
everyday tasks probably seem beyond you right now: shopping for food, doing the school run…’
‘Yes, my parents have been coming round every day. My mother seems to think we can eat our way out of our grief.’ Eiríkur gave them a faint smile.
Sævar took out a small notebook and cleared his throat. ‘All the same, we’d like to ask you a few questions about Elísabet, if that’s OK?’ he said. When Eiríkur nodded, he went on: ‘Did she have any contact with her aunt? Or her cousins?’
Eiríkur snorted. ‘No, none at all. Her aunt, Guðrún, is a total cow, but I rang her anyway to let her know what had happened, because I felt it was only right to break the news to Elísabet’s remaining family members. But the truth is she never cared about Elísabet; she only took her in out of a sense of duty. I don’t know if she had any children herself, as Elísabet never mentioned them.’
‘Elísabet went to live with Guðrún after her mother died, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. She was nine or ten at the time.’
‘Cancer, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Eiríkur said, pulling a face. ‘Horrible disease, but I gather Halla didn’t exactly live a healthy life; she was a heavy smoker and drank a lot. In fact, from the little Elísabet let slip, it sounds as if she had a serious drink problem. Apparently, there were always people partying round at their house when Elísabet was small. And Halla can’t have been more than thirty when she was diagnosed.’
‘Was that why she took Elísabet to live in Reykjavík?’ Elma asked. ‘To be closer to family when she found out she was ill?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Eiríkur scratched his head. ‘Though I don’t actually know much about it. Maybe Guðrún could tell you more. I suppose Halla wanted to give Elísabet a chance to get to know her aunt before she died, as she knew Guðrún would take her in. But Elísabet never wanted to talk about it.’
They heard a sudden blast of music from one of the bedrooms and a singer’s voice started booming out. Eiríkur stood up with a sigh and left the room. The volume was abruptly turned down and he came back to the kitchen and took a seat at the breakfast bar again.
‘Was Elísabet still in touch with anyone in Akranes?’ Sævar resumed.
‘No, not really,’ Eiríkur replied. ‘Like I said, she never wanted to go to Akranes. The only time she did was to meet some old woman, and that was very rarely.’
‘Some old woman?’ Elma repeated. ‘Would you happen to know her name?’
‘No, I’m afraid I’ve totally forgotten.’ Eiríkur shook his head. ‘Actually, I don’t think her name ever came up.’
‘Any idea how Elísabet knew her?’
‘No, I asked her once but she would never properly explain, just said she’d been a friend of the family. That was all.’ He was silent for a moment or two, then said: ‘I just don’t understand it. Don’t understand who could have done this to her.’ He looked at them both in turn. ‘I’ve been trying to think who could have had a grudge against her; who could have wanted to harm her, but I can’t come up with a single name. The only person I know Elísabet definitely didn’t like was her aunt Guðrún, but she’s so old and frail that she could hardly have attacked her.’
‘We’re doing our best to find out what happened,’ Sævar assured him.
‘How was your relationship?’ Elma asked. ‘Had you had any problems recently?’
Eiríkur appeared disconcerted and a note of irritation entered his voice as he answered: ‘We had a perfectly normal relationship. Of course we had our disagreements but nothing major.’
‘We read a text message you sent her,’ Sævar said, fixing Eiríkur with a stern look. ‘A message sent about six months ago, which suggests that your problems were a bit more serious than that.’
Eiríkur glanced towards the children’s room, then said in a lower voice: ‘For God’s sake, that was just a row. We’ve been fine since then.’
‘And you’re quite sure Elísabet wasn’t seeing someone else?’ Elma asked, not taking her eyes off him.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. When he eventually answered, he sounded defeated: ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I never really knew what Elísabet was thinking. We’d been together for nine years but there were times when I felt I didn’t know her at all.’
Elísabet’s friend Aldís was a big woman, tall and heavily built. She wore a slash of bright-red lipstick and her dark hair was drawn back severely in a high bun. She sat at the desk in her office at the hotel, very erect in her black trouser suit, fixing her large, round eyes on Elma and Sævar in turn.
‘When I first heard that it was Beta…’ Shaking her head slowly, she closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I literally couldn’t move. I was on my way to a meeting that I couldn’t postpone, so I just had to sit there in total shock. I didn’t take in a word, don’t remember a single thing that was said.’ She leant towards them and Elma caught a powerful waft of perfume. ‘I mean, who would do something like that? You hear about that sort of thing on the news and read about horrible murders happening abroad, but that’s all so far away, so unreal.’ Her lips pursed, she straightened up again, still staring at them with those wide, unblinking eyes.
‘So you knew each other well?’ Elma prompted.
‘Yes. We met at sixth-form college and stayed in touch, though less so over the years.’
‘Did you meet up often?’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. Elísabet had a family, of course, and lived in the middle of nowhere. I haven’t had time for that yet … starting a family, I mean. I work too hard.’
‘Do you remember the last time you met?’
‘Let’s see.’ She thought. ‘Yes, it must have been a couple of weeks ago – no, three, I think – when I went round to see her one evening. We had some wine and chatted. Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘Do you know what her relationship with Eiríkur was like?’
‘Oh, I always got the impression it wasn’t that close. As if Beta was never really in love with him. I mean, look at them: Beta was gorgeous; she could have had any man she wanted, but she went and settled for Eiríkur – Mr Average. I could never understand what she saw in him.’
‘Did she ever talk about leaving him?’
‘No, never.’ Aldís examined her red fingernails, then raised her eyes to them again with a defiant expression. ‘Look, you have to understand one thing about Beta: she was an extremely reserved person; it was hard to read her. She could come across as a bit arrogant, but I always thought she was very misunderstood and that’s why not many people liked her. Not that they actively disliked her, but it was difficult to get close to her. Being Beta’s friend was always a challenge because she never let you into her innermost thoughts. It was like you were always opening up far more than she did.’
‘Do you know what made her like that?’
‘No, I don’t. People are just different.’ Aldís shrugged. ‘Beta was your classic introvert. She never had much need for company. Never needed recognition from other people.’
‘Do you think Eiríkur was like that too?’
‘I think Eiríkur was just happy that someone as stunning as Beta so much as looked at him,’ Aldís retorted a little sharply, then went on: ‘Look, I’m not saying Eiríkur was a bad husband, just that I never understood their relationship. It was so lacking in chemistry. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought their parents had set them up, like in one of those Muslim marriages.’
‘One of those Muslim marriages?’ Elma repeated, raising her eyebrows, and Aldís made a dismissive gesture and laughed apologetically.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I just mean it was like an arranged marriage – on Elísabet’s side, anyway. Eiríkur was absolutely crazy about her. But she never even mentioned him, then suddenly they were a couple, and next minute they were married and she was expecting a baby.’ Aldís shook her head in disgust. ‘They didn’t even have a proper wedding, just went to the magistrate and got hitched, just like that.’<
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Elma nodded. ‘So there was nothing that struck you last time you talked? Nothing that suggested their relationship had changed?’
Aldís thought again. ‘No, nothing like that. It was all just the usual stuff.’
‘Do you know if she had any friends or acquaintances in Akranes?’
‘No, though of course she used to live there. But surely you must have known that already?’ Aldís asked in a tone of disbelief, her large eyes opening even wider. When they nodded, she continued: ‘She never said much about Akranes. Just that she had no interest in moving back there. Though she did mention something about going to visit the house she grew up in. Apparently it came on the market recently.’
‘Do you think that could have been what took her back to Akranes? To see her old house?’
‘I haven’t a clue what she was doing there. Maybe she did go to see the house. Who knows? All I can tell you is that she didn’t have any friends there anymore. But then she never did have many friends, full stop,’ Aldís added impatiently, then glanced at her watch and announced that she was going to be late for a meeting. She got to her feet and picked up her bag with her manicured hand, then paused, as if struck by an afterthought: ‘But … to be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had been seeing someone else. I would quite understand.’ She gave them a brief, impersonal smile before showing them out of her office.
There was silence in the car as they drove out of Reykjavík, heading north. It was past four and the rush-hour congestion was predictably bad, with car after car stretching into the distance in an unbroken line. Elma closed her eyes, feeling drowsiness creeping up on her.
Little of interest had emerged from their conversation with Elísabet’s maternal aunt, Guðrún. The old woman had invited them into her tidy flat, in special housing for pensioners, which was located in the eastern suburb of Breiðholt, an area of big apartment blocks stretching up the hillside overlooking the city. The flat was full of heavy, dark furniture and the walls were hung with embroidered artworks. Everywhere they looked there were wooden carvings of cats in all shapes and sizes, so Elma shouldn’t have been as shocked as she was when a tabby suddenly jumped down from one of the cupboards, landing right in front of her.
The Creak on the Stairs Page 11
